Chapter 26
Blaze
Iyelp as Fox’s dagger slices a shallow cut along my thigh. ‘That hurt.’
‘Oh please, I barely scratched you,’ he drawls, dodging another of my ill-aimed swipes. ‘And maybe if you were paying attention, it wouldn’t have happened at all.’
‘I am paying attention.’
‘No, you’re miles away. Come back to me, then we’ll fight like civilized people.’
He’s right – I am distracted, not to mention short-tempered, and so tense it’s difficult to achieve any degree of agility as we circle one another in the ring Fox has fashioned from several intertwined saplings.
I’ve barely slept. I’m still reeling from those visions of the past. And is it any wonder?
It’s not every day you come face-to-face with your adolescent grandmother, or witness a war that took place more than fifty years ago.
Eventually, I give up and toss Silverclaw to the ground. Fox does the same, driving the point of Soulkiller deep into the earth and hitching himself up on to a fallen tree.
‘Come, sit,’ he tells me, patting the patch of moss beside him as though it were a silk chaise. ‘I’ve been told I’m a good listener.’
I arch a brow. ‘Really?’
‘No.’
Rolling my eyes, I clamber up on to the tree.
‘I’m guessing this –’ Fox gestures at my brooding expression – ‘has something to do with this?’ He holds up the Eye of the Past.
‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’ I say quietly. ‘Our grandparents, the war, the sisters, Syla. It’s all so much bigger than us. I suppose I’ve been reminded of how much is at stake.’
Fox angles his head. ‘Are you worried we won’t find the missing Eye?’
‘Yes,’ I admit, glancing at him. ‘But I’m also worried about what’ll happen if we do.’
I recall Syla’s face, the pain that seemed to rip her apart from inside out as she made her choice. I understood then, more than ever before, that power is a burden as well as a gift. And wielding power itself is a burden almost too great to fathom.
A heavy silence smothers us until Fox says, ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’
His shrewdness is disarming.
‘You know the old woman you met in Zafar?’ I ask. ‘The one who told you about the Eyes?’
He nods.
I swallow hard as a memory surfaces – a boy bound in crystal chains, imprisoned in the cell next to Syla’s. I did not know him, but he knew me.
S’ai nova sempara, Voya Ishraki.
I will remember this, Storm Weaver.
Despite the heat of the day, I shiver.
I clear my throat. ‘If the Magi were truly stripped of their magic, then how do some still retain it? I know you have a theory. I want you to tell me what it is.’
‘Is that an order, Your Majesty?’
I glare at him.
Fox rakes a hand through his hair, then exhales.
‘So, it’s like this,’ he says. ‘We know Syla’s spell worked.
The Etheri won the War of the Empires, and the powers of the Magi were sealed inside the Eye of the Soul.
Only sometimes, with enchantments that powerful, it seems a lack of specificity can lead to a … loophole.’
I frown. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Bear with me, all right? Think of the Noble Houses. Take your family, for instance. House Harglade prides itself on being pureblood. Generations of Ignitia, descended from Vesta herself. Though of course not everyone cares about that sort of thing. You’ll find that most people tend to marry for love rather than ancestral purity.
’ He doesn’t bother to disguise the derision in his tone.
‘Intermarriage between Etheri with different gifts isn’t discouraged.
But what is discouraged, forbidden even, is intermarriage between us and …
others. If an Etheri were to marry a Fidra, for example, they would be accused of diluting their bloodline.
They’d be branded a blood-traitor. An outcast.’
‘Go on,’ I say slowly, failing to see his point.
‘For centuries, Etheri and Magi were estranged. Or so we thought.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not following.’
Fox traces patterns across the tree bark. ‘Over the years, there’ve been cases – very rare cases – of children born half Etheri, half Magi.’
My mouth tips open. I stare at him, wordless.
‘Children born to those children would then be part Etheri, part Magi, and so on, forever tainting a bloodline,’ he continues.
‘Generations of Etheri could be descended from one single Mage, and vice versa. The point is –’ he takes a breath, as though steeling himself – ‘my grandfather told Syla to strip the Magi of their magic. He didn’t tell her to take away the powers of anyone with Magi blood. ’
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. ‘So … so what you’re saying is … these people, they’re Magi, but not full Magi? They’re descended from Etheri, directly or distantly … and that’s why they were able to retain their magic when Syla cast her spell?’
Fox inclines his head. ‘Like I said – a loophole.’
‘But … if somebody is Etheri and Magi, then what does that make them?’
‘Both,’ he says. ‘They’re called Demari. Many will have been hiding their whole lives, even before the war. Others may not know the truth about who they really are.’
‘And they’re able to wield the gifts of both Etheri and Magi?’ I ask slowly.
‘Some, yes. For others, the gift they inherit seems to depend on the dominant bloodline. Except mixing Etheri and Magi blood can have … consequences.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning someone with dual ancestry might only inherit one gift,’ Fox says.
‘They may appear to be either Etheri or Magi. But their gift could be … distorted. Too strong. Too dangerous. Hence the need for concealment.’ He pauses, as if weighing his next words.
‘These people … they were never supposed to exist. They inherit too much power.’
‘Gods,’ I whisper, eyes wide as I try to take it all in. Then a thought strikes, followed by a wave of panic. ‘Your grandfather. He has to know about Syla’s loophole.’
‘You’re right,’ Fox tells me. ‘There are dozens of Demari down in the dungeons. I suspect he’s been hunting them for years.’
Bile burns my throat as I recall the hollow-eyed prisoners hidden in the darkest depths of the palace.
‘What about King Balen?’ I ask. ‘How much does he know?’
Fox grimaces.
My voice is stricken. ‘Tell me.’
‘After the Binding Ceremony, it was like a door had been opened in my mind. The Eye gave me vision after vision.’
‘And?’
‘And it seems my uncle’s been … collecting Demari for some time.’
‘What?’ I splutter, horrified. ‘Why?’
‘Think about it. If he’s planning to take the throne, he’ll need a bigger army. And what better way to ensure his victory than to infuse his ranks with Demari soldiers.’
‘But why would they agree to fight for him?’
‘Some may not, it’s true. But others might.
Because Balen’s offering them something they’ve never had – legitimacy, security, protection.
To be valued and rewarded for who they are, rather than ostracized or imprisoned for it.
And with an army of Demari at his disposal, if he were then to get his hands on the missing Eye … ’
For a moment I think I might vomit.
‘I keep thinking about it,’ I whisper. ‘The way he looked at the Eye. All he’s got planned for it. For me. This is only the beginning – that’s what he said.’
‘He’s just trying to scare you.’
‘Then it’s working. Take what happened at Fire Mountain – he attacked the entire Ignitia Court just to get to me.’
‘I won’t let him hurt you, Storm Weaver,’ Fox says quietly.
I glance up, and the intensity of his gaze roots me to the spot. I’m not sure I could move if I tried.
‘It’s not just me I’m worried about,’ I say at last.
‘Your brothers?’ Fox guesses.
I nod, winding a stray curl tightly round my finger. ‘I was the one who insisted we go through the Ridge tunnels, I’m the reason Flint and I were separated, and now he’s out there, all alone. I hate not knowing where he is.’
‘You know he’s alive,’ Fox points out.
It’s true – he’s been using the Eye of the Past to check on my family every day at my behest. Grandmother and Renly are holed up at the safe house with the decoys, while Flint appears to be making his way across some endless stretch of moorland.
‘But what if he runs into trouble? What if –’ I cut myself off, afraid I might speak some unfavourable future into existence. ‘And then there’s Ren …’
‘He’s safe,’ Fox reassures me as I pull the little wooden figurine out of my pocket.
‘Maybe. But for how long? We both know your uncle isn’t above killing children to further his own agenda.’
The words are out before I can snatch them back. Ugly and insensitive, they linger in the space between us.
Fox has turned very still. I can almost feel it – the quiet agony, the coiled, all-consuming rage.
‘I’m – I’m so – I don’t –’
‘Know how to form a sentence?’ His voice is cool and clipped.
I twist my fingers together, cursing my own thoughtlessness. It’s some time before I manage to speak again. ‘I’m sorry. About your sister.’
‘Why?’ Fox says flatly. ‘You didn’t kill her.’
I wince. ‘I mean, I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t even imagine –’
‘Then don’t.’
‘I … I know you prefer not to talk about it.’
‘How perceptive you are, Storm Weaver.’ Fox drops to the ground.
The saplings bend to let him pass, but something makes him turn back and face me head-on.
‘What do you want me to say?’ he demands.
‘That I loved my sister? That I’m sad she’s dead?
Well, I did, and I am. Every day. But what good will that do? It won’t bring her back.’
‘No, it won’t,’ I agree. ‘But keeping it to yourself, going through something like this alone …’ I pause self-consciously. I don’t often share this part of myself, not with anybody. But I’ve realized, with more than a little surprise, how painful it is – seeing him in pain.
‘I … I know what it’s like to lose someone you love,’ I murmur softly. ‘And it’s enough to break anyone.’
Drizzle kisses my cheeks.
Fox hesitates, torn. Then he closes the distance between us in two strides.
My breath hitches, my knees grazing his hips as he plants his hands on either side of me.
For a long moment, we stare at one another.
Green eyes bore into mine, tearless yet brimming with such torment that I want to look away.
But I don’t. I force myself to meet his gaze, because he needs something to hold on to, even if he won’t admit it.
Grief is a language I understand. It’s the very worst kind of pain. An ache that never really goes away. There’s no cure, no remedy or antidote. Not even for a Healer.
And I meant what I said – it is enough to break anyone.
But broken things are sharp. So maybe that’s why Fox takes my concern and my vulnerability and throws them back in my face. Why he recoils from my sympathy as though it were a loaded weapon pointed straight at his heart.
The fallen tree beneath me begins to quiver, then quake. I gasp as it snaps clean in half, the deafening CRACK causing birds to take flight from the branches overhead.
I freeze as Fox leans in close, eyes cold, lips brushing the shell of my ear. ‘I’m the one who does the breaking, remember?’
Then he yanks Soulkiller from the earth and walks away without a backward glance.